The Half-Hour Session
by Team-Blue-Magi
Summary: A little bit of inspiration I had about the PASIV device and its possible uses, focusing on psychology. No characters from Inception, just the ideas behind it. Rated M for mature themes? Thank you for reading. I obviously don't own anything, except maybe my characters.
1. Sub-Psychotherapy Part 1

Author's Note: This is my first Fan Fiction! Firstly, thank you for reading it, I hope you enjoy it. I wasn't too sure if I could scrap all the characters from the movie completely and come up with something like this, but we'll see how it goes. Inception's a great movie, I highly recommend you watch it before reading this, as a basic understanding of how it works is required. Also, I hope you catch on to some little references I make throughout! Should probably add a disclaimer: I don't own anything about, of or from Inception, this is just for fun.

* * *

12th October, 12:00am

My client walks in and sits upon the long chair I have placed next to the PASIV device.  
I tell him to get comfortable, for we have a long day ahead of ourselves.  
He claims he only has half an hour, I laugh.

My name is Adam Calmes, I am a psychologist, I tell him, but I specialize in a very specific type of psychotherapy; sub-conscious psychotherapy.  
I point to the PASIV device on the table, and tell him this will allow me to do my work with you, that I am going to make him dream in a very different way, and from that way, we will work out his problem.  
The patient report claims this man is classed as 'mod-stable', which is nothing un-ordinary for someone like me with my experience. Through dream sharing I have shaped killers and rapists into rational people. This man sat in front of me has done nothing wrong, but is losing his mind.

Describe to me your problem, how you look at it, I say.

His account: "It started a few years back, when my parents were killed in a car crash. I was in my mid-thirties, living with my wife, and my parents were coming to stay with us for a weekend. Since they live up in Scotland, and we lived in London, we barely got the chance to see them. The funeral was two weeks later. It… shocked me more than anything. Suddenly, the world was a dangerous place to me, with limitless possibilities for disaster. It changed me."

Like it would any normal person, I reassure.

"My wife, she couldn't understand what I was going through, how could anyone who still had their parents? She comforted me, but ultimately, was impatient; she waited for me to just 'get over them'. But I couldn't. I still can't. I was never the same, and she could see that. Slowly, everything turned sour. She comforted me less and less, she never tried to completely try to understand what I was going through. She turned away from me, sought others. It hurt a lot. I tried opening up, but she wouldn't hear me. Rejections turned into fights and arguments, and six months ago… she left me."

What did you make of this? What was your initial reaction?

"I hated myself. Why couldn't I have just moved on and lived happily ever after?"

Your reaction is based on your links with your partner. After the loss of your parents, she became a rock for you, grounding; almost a motherly figure. You have to realize your loss and grieving is entirely natural. I want to ask you a question. Six months later, how do you now feel?

"I've just lost the three biggest people in my life. My marriage of 9 years is broken, how do you think I feel?"

You tell me.

"Lost. Hatred. Every night I turn over and I can feel the empty side of the bed. I'm losing my mind thinking of how I could have handled things differently, was it my entire fault?"

Of course not, I say.

"I could never accept my wife back into my life, not after the things she said to me. I just want to move on, but I can't. I'm not happy."

Happy is a point of view, maybe you look at everything that reminds you of these past events and they make you believe you are unhappy? I suggest.

"You're the doctor."

So my certificate says behind my desk. I move over and sit on the other side of the PASIV case, I say, this device is called a PASIV. If you want my help and want to get to the root of your problems, then there is something you need to know about the way I work. Your sub-conscious is the most powerful, yet passive part of your brain, able to create dreams and recollect memories. This device allows us to access your sub-conscious through something called shared dreaming. You are the subject, and you are also the dreamer. In what will follow, I am the guide, and I will guide you through a series of challenges and activities that will ultimately cure you. The first thing you should know is this; you _will_ be unconscious for the best part of this session. Secondly, you have to trust me completely to do what I need to do to help you. Every painful experience, every twisted thought you've had, I will find out. Now, I'm not here to judge you, but this is a very personal, but powerful, psychological technique, and by the end of this I will know you as well as your parents knew you, as well as your wife knew you, and as well as you think you know yourself. I need you to open up completely to me. Your mind is my workplace. Thirdly, due to the nature of the sub-conscious and dream sharing, it can be a little uncomfortable, a little risky and maybe dangerous at times, for example when a dream collapses, or if you exhibit strong emotions that risk the damage of the dream. I am a trained professional; I have worked with people in worse positions than you are so you have nothing to fear. Do you accept?

He contemplates and asks a few questions regarding dreams. It takes up a further five minutes, but eventually he agrees. I open the PASIV and pull out two wires, explaining I shall use a sedative on him to help him slip into the dream-state. I explain that usually there's a third dreamer who builds the world of the dream, but for therapy methods, it was always better to use the subject's sub-consciously perceived world as a foundation. I ask him to lie down comfortably and insert the tube into his arm and place the other in my own. I have a strong sedative, so I set the timer for 10 seconds, he does not see this. The mechanics of dreaming are something I don't bother my clients with.

I am falling. The world is dark and endless. For some reason I know I'm spinning.

Can you hear me? I call out. At once his projection shows up in front of me, also falling.

We are currently falling through your un-constructed sub-conscious mind, I explain. This world is yours own and abides by your laws.

He asks how we can stop from falling. I say build a floor.

Crash.

We are now in a field. The floor we landed on was soft earth, so the damage wasn't too painful. He doesn't know it, but his mind is already building a world around the floor. Some trees far away, leading into a forest, a canvas of sky, though rather unsettled. A telephone pole someway off but close enough it had to be a memory, a broken fence, but no life around us at all.

Welcome to your sub-conscious, I say.

He stands and looks around, not questioning the obvious pain in a dream world.

You've been here before? I ask.

He replies, "Yes, this is where my wife and I got lost once."

The telephone pole? I press.

"I thought there may be a house nearby; I suggested we should follow the wire."

We are in a memory, I say and start to notice the scenes playing around us, but I do not want you to watch. Focus your attention on me and me alone.

"She is beautiful," he exclaims.

I snap my fingers in front of his eyes, a technique that works wonders. The sound carries for miles. His eyes meet my own.

Maybe we should go somewhere less memorable to start with? I say, imagine a different field.

He struggles, but eventually green runs straight to the horizon. No forests, no telephone pole, and no fences.

Memories will try to burst into this place, I explain, but at all times, try to focus on the task at hand.

"Which is?" he asks.

I want you to build a simple house.

"How do I do that?"

Use your imagination.

* * *

Authors Note: And that's chapter 1. Let me know what you think, I could really do with some constructive advice. Thanks again!


	2. Sub-Psychotherapy Part 2

12th October 12:10am – Dream

The structure he builds is a simple one. After 5 MDT (Minutes Dream-time) he works out how he can use his imagination to create building tools, and building materials. It is a circular house, for one man, built of sticks, with a cone roof. I look inside and find simple furnishings, which I question about.

"The same furnishings from my room at home," he replies.

It appears my subject is quite fond of these memories. I see feminine influences on the furnishings, this must be a room his ex-wife had been a part of, maybe their bedroom? I will not press the issue, so as not to bring his ex-wife into the dream. For some reason his mind has not filled the dream with projections.

Destroy it, I say.

He looks at me questioningly, "What? Why? That took me ages to build."

I tell him I need him to trust me, and that I don't like it.

A psychologist is supposed to be non-judgmental, neutral… But I've come up with some of my own tricks over the years.

"You ask me to build you a house, and now you want me to destroy it because you don't like it? What is this?"

I don't answer, instead, just look at him until he obliges.

Eventually, he agrees. I'm wary of time, we shall soon wake up. Hopefully he'll have gotten the hang of the basics and this next step will be much faster.  
He shrugs, and starts taking the house apart, stick by stick, but the furnishings out neatly and laying them carefully on the ground.

You lack imagination, I say, this is a dream-world, _your _dream-world… you don't have to be so careful, I urge.

The subject doesn't respond. He's a stubborn one. I'm trying to make him realise we could get the job done much faster if he… imagined a chainsaw or set it ablaze.  
One thing I notice as I wait for him, the sky is very unsettled, very storm like in here. Yet it is silent all around us, like he is waiting. I fear he may be holding something back…  
Once he has finished, and the sticks are lying on the ground, I set him on the next task.

Re-build the house, I say.

Confusion twists his features, but as he goes to grab the sticks, I set them on fire.

Use your imagination, I repeat, a little more forced.

This time, he doesn't argue as much, but builds faster. He is still using sticks which he imagines up, so I set fire to each one as he places it.

"Why are you doing that?" he asks.

I don't answer.

His attitude changes slightly, I feel a spot of rain on my face. His mind is getting tired of the labour. The sticks become bricks so I can't burn them. I smile to myself. If I am going to help this man, I need it to thunder… and pour… and hail, I need the full release of emotions that these clouds are holding.  
This time, the house is small. He did build it faster, and we'll wake up very soon. I go inside and see the same furnishings as before.

How do we build a house? I ask.

"Start with the foundations, and build up from there," the subject answers.

I walk outside the house and lift it up with my hand.

But your house has no foundations, I say, so is this a house?

"I guess not," he replies.

This is a room, I say, a room that you keep filling with the same memory. A room that can be destroyed as easily as it can be built. Before we leave here, I want you to do one more thing.

"Which is?"

Destroy it.

* * *

-Outside Dream

Don't worry; I say as he wakes up, we're not done in there yet. I've resurfaced you to have a chat.

The room you created, those furnishings you decorated it with, where were they from?

"My room at home… our room, or what used to be our room."

Does it look the same now?

"No, I threw out most of her stuff."

So why are you bringing it back into your dream?

He pauses to think, "I guess… Because it looked so nice. We worked together to decorate it and… it was a nice place to be in."

You built a room, I say, not a house. Your room had no foundations, it had no… life. I'm going to take us back in, and I want you to build another house. This time I want to see the foundations, but I don't want to see any furnishings at all.

I set us for 5 seconds; about 5 hours Dream Time.

"Am I not supposed to ask how this works?" he asks looking at the machine.

I tell him, I don't think it's a case of not being allowed to, more, a case of not needing to.

He dreams us back to the field almost straight away.

* * *

"How come the bricks are still here?" he asks.

When we do a job, or complete a task, we leave an impression on our brain. Your sub-conscious has bought the ruins of your house back to us because we completed the task, and you were probably anticipating a return. Through the use of the device we can shape your sub-conscious, build on it, and create memories from within almost. What we are doing is shaping your world, your brain will then feed it right back to us when we re-enter, and you won't even know you're doing it.

"Ok, so, build a house with foundations?"

I nod my head and once again sit down and wait.

Build a better house, I suggest.

"I wouldn't have had enough time last time to build a whole house, how could I do it with… five seconds?"

With less chatting and more building, I reply, eventually, you'll become so engrossed you'll find the house just… begins to build itself.

That's the idea. It doesn't incept itself; we're not deep enough for that. But it causes him to pause and look at what he's doing. I watch his eyes plan the shape in the ground, he sees the house in front of him, but it is not yet built.

"Can I have some paper and a pen?" he asks.

No, I say, you don't need them.

"I'll forget my ideas though," he complains.

I don't think you will, I reply.

Sure enough, the outline of his house starts to form in mid-air. As if he was drawing on a canvas of the sky.

What did he see? The outline of a house, with four windows and a door on the front, etched into the very fabric of his dream that he could now build around.

What did I see? Progress.


	3. Sub-Psychotherapy Part 3

12th October 12:12am – Dream

An empty house stood before me. I had watched him speed up whilst building. As he got more into the task, parts of the house built itself. He moved up a layer of bricks the house moved up five. With the foundations in place in his sub-conscious, I could not lift the house. A chimney had appeared on top, which wasn't a part of his plan; and he hadn't built it himself either.

You have completed this task using something called genuine inspiration, I explain, whilst you were building, did you notice anything strange about the house?

"I seemed to move up higher than a simple brick layer each time…"

The house started forming itself; I say, yet, what about the bricks?

"What do you mean?"

The bricks were always there, always formed, always ready to be used. Did you make the bricks? I don't think so. I think this is some good progress, we have the pieces, but you struggle to make them into something… more.

For once, he smiles.

Do you like this house? I ask.

"Yes, I only used some inspiration from my real house."

I still can't ask about his ex-wife's influences, still can't find out what's behind those clouds…

Destroy it, I say; before we wake up… you have 10 minutes.

I assume he suspects this, because he starts to without arguing. He begins with the top layer, breaking the walls down with a sledge-hammer. As he pounds against cement and stone, I notice he leaves a small room untouched for a while.

What's in there? I ask.

He pauses, "I don't want to talk about that."

You remember my terms? I reply, I have to know your mind inside and out, or else this won't work.

He wipes his brow and sits down over a ledge where the floor is missing, "That's where… after my parents passed away, I would sit and cry. Happy?"

It became a sanctuary? A place away from the world where you could hide yourself from everything else… I deduce.

"Sort of," he says, "I guess. I used to write in there."

He opens the door to the little room, and out gushes paper, flying through the air like leaves, whipping around him, but he doesn't seem bothered…

"A diary. I wrote down how I felt, and sometimes, I could feel _them_ reading it and comforting me, like my wife never could."

What you hold on to, and what you keep bringing into these structures is what makes you who you are… I explain; which must too be destroyed.

"Why?"

I shall explain when we re-surface. I do have one suggestion though; use a bit of emotion in this destruction, let out some anger. You can't hurt anyone in here.

That seems to do the trick, when the sledge-hammer again meets a wall, instead of a small punch hole, the entire side of the house shatters. I can see the pain driving him forward. This is always the worst part of these sessions, getting them to feel everything all over again. But it's worth it, in the long run.

Eventually, we are pulled back out of the dream.

* * *

-Outside Dream

Why do you think I made you destroy your most precious memories and places? I ask.

"Probably to make me upset?"

Not quite, I reply, that comes next. Everything you've built so far has some essence of your current condition. You build safely from familiarity. I don't think you fear the loss of your wife like most people would, you fear the unfamiliar, a very rational, very real problem. You don't seem to push the boundaries or use much effort anymore. For example, your lavish furnishings in the stick house aren't anything inspired, because they have been a part of you for quite a long time. I'm surprised you built the first house out of sticks; maybe, much like the gaps in the walls, that was a representation of the gaps you now miss in your life? What you did with the brick house was change the way you thought about your abilities, probably without realizing it. You closed those gaps with other stuff; cement. But you still couldn't completely build something from scratch without memories. Memories are what are bringing you down, I asked you to destroy that room because you have to realize what you're feeling can't be hidden. It does and will affect every aspect of your life, but you must learn to deal with it. Let's go back in.

* * *

12th October 12:14am – Dream

I don't have to ask this time. He sets straight to the task, and before even five minutes are up, a house has been built in front of me, larger than the last, much more modern looking, with much more feeling added to it. The inside is empty and bare still, but there is nothing familiar about its layout.

Very good, I exclaim.

"As soon as I started building, I began noticing where I was injecting memories so strayed from them and altered the shape slightly," he replies.

What I'm going to ask you to do now is something a little… hypocritical, I start, this next task does involve your memories, but we won't be seeing them. Are you aware that some houses have… safes? Hiding places? Secure locations? I ask.

He nods.

This house is a representation of what you can do, but represents nothing about you. I want you to fill it with memories, but keep them out of sight, hide them away securely, understand? I will have a walk around when you are complete, and if I see one memory, the whole thing must be destroyed and restarted.

His face drops a little; I'm lying of course, but he doesn't know that.

Start with the worst memories you have, take them, and shove them somewhere deep and dark where I can't stumble upon them. This is your house, so use it as you will.

He enters the house to hide his memories, and finishes 30 minutes later.

During this time I notice the change in atmosphere. A subtle thundering has begun, only noticeable if you want to notice it. When he must have faced particularly difficult memories, the sky flashed.

As I enter the house, it is still bare and empty, but I can still _feel_ the presence of discomfort. The bottom rooms are both large, two simple rectangles running parallel to each other, with a staircase running between them.

It is quiet, cold… almost dead. The memories locked away offer some warmth. The subject is the dreamer, and before I was a psychologist I was an extractor, trained to look for this kind of thing. People can hide the image… but they can never truly hide the emotion. I look at each memory I find, viewing painful parts of my subjects life. I see arguments with his ex-wife. I see the day he learns about his parents passing.

Upstairs, I find his final argument with his ex-wife, I watch as she slaps him and storms out. Within a small crack in a wall, I watch how he locks himself in his tiny writing room, and tears drop from his eyes on to the page he is scribbling on. He has a picture of his parents in this room.

Elsewhere I see him staring at the world behind his window, watching time flow by.

I watch how he throws a picture of his ex-wife and he at the wall, I notice how incredibly detailed it is, I can clearly see every shard of shattered glass hit the floor, the sounds echoing a thousand fold.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to find his wife staring at me. The first projection I have seen so far. She wasn't hidden well enough, and managed to escape.

She turns and points to a picture on the wall, it is the broken photograph of her and him, and its shattered remains still on the ground. My shoes crunch as I step over to it, remove it, and find a heavy-duty safe.

I crack it open and she watches as I see what's inside. A bathtub. A toaster.

"A crude way to solve problems," his wife says.

I watch the scene unfold; he stands there in a dirty nightgown. He presses the switch on and takes a deep breath.

He won't do it, I say.

"How can you know that? What can stop him?"

Maybe it's not a case of what… but of whom?

"You're smart," she replies, and walks away, to knock on the door.

My subject turns, exhales sharply, and presses the switch off.

The wife doesn't enter the bathroom, but she knows… she must know.

As they talk word I cannot hear, her eyes flicker to mine.

Ahhh, I say, _you're_ the reason he's still alive. You saved him, and he believes you'll do so again. He never mentioned a suicide attempt… He is torn between wanting you to save him, and wanting to become someone else entirely. You're the key.

"Are you going to make him destroy me?" she asks.

I hesitate whilst thinking… yes.

"That took a while," my subject says.

One must search very carefully, like a thief would. You have hidden your memories well, I say.

"Did you find any?" he asks.

I did not.

"What happens next?"

The dream collapses, I don't say, but point to the house.

Have you noticed… something strange about this dream?

"What do you mean?"

Well, it's very devoid of… people. Usually in a dream, there aren't just two people.

As the realisation draws on him, the sky darkens, just as expected. People appear around us, his projections finally slipping into the world.

I look at them.

Take a closer look, I say, at these people.

He begins to walk around and look at them, I feel the air getting colder, denser.

"I don't see anything."

I can't point everything out to you, I say, look harder.

It takes him a while, but eventually, "They have no faces."

Why have you bought faceless people into the world? I ask, as a drop of rain lands on my face.

"I don't know; I don't know who these people are."

It's happening slowly, an organic process. The features of the faceless become sharper, faces develop. I recognize his parents walking a little way off, some other people who must have been family. We just have to find _her. _He needed more pushing.

Tell me about your ex-wife, I suggest.

As he walks, he looks around, "She was beautiful. Before I lost my parents we were quite the couple. We never really argued that much."

But she still isn't here, I thought.

The thunder is louder…

"We helped each other through everything."

It can't have been a perfect relationship? I shout after him.

He wanders deeper into his sub-conscious, looking at the people.

The shadow of houses have started appearing around us; a shadow village.

"I know you saw my suicide attempt," he suddenly says.

I stop dead.

She told you, I say. It wasn't a question.

He turns and nods, and then I see her, a lightning flash, a crack of thunder, and she's in the scorched earth.

"What are you trying to do to me?" my subject asks.

I have to be _very_ careful. The ground has started shaking slightly. If the dream collapses, he wakes up and leaves.

You're not really angry at me are you? I ask.

"You broke into my house, you stole my deepest secrets."

Listen to me, what she said to you… is wrong.

"I tried sealing my thoughts away, I hoped we could get to the bottom of my problems without getting into all that stuff," he says.

I'd left him outside for too long. I didn't even know how long we had to remain in this place. I had to work fast.

The village was fully formed, the society of people, _his _sub-conscious, was all looking at me, the intruder.

It was then I realised it. I wasn't the first psychologist he'd gone to.

How many before me? I asked.

"Four, each with the same result."

Which was?

"I just needed to grieve. I just needed time. I'm sick of waiting Dr Calmes. What the hell is wrong with me?"

His sub-conscious is closing in, if I'm ejected, his mind will be locked in this village… in this prison.

You want the truth? I ask.

He stares at me; his eyes leak pain and anger. She stands behind him, her hand on his shoulder.

Your problem, I say, is her.

We wake up.


	4. Sub-Psychotherapy Part 4

12th October 12:15am

I call his name, he seems unsettled.

Listen to me, and listen carefully. Yes, I saw the suicide attempt. Though I don't know what drove you to try it, I know what drove you away, it was her. It was always her wasn't it? What is she doing to you?

His eyes are unfocused, looking at the window to the outside, "she saved my life. I wanted to see my parents… and she stopped me."

She didn't just do that though… did she? Listen, this woman has become to you a false ideal. What do you see when you look in the mirror?

"I see… us."

You're hanging on to the past as if it's the future, like you hung to the hope of seeing your parents again. These memories poison your mind, they show you what _could _be, not what is.

"You're asking me to forget?" he asks.

No one can forget. I'm asking you to accept.

I press the button; this time noting how long we have.

Your mind is weaker in the real world, I say, I can easily change how you think, but in here… she's there to guide you.

I see him again; I see her, her hand still on his shoulder. I don't think he knows she's there.

"What do I have to accept?" he asks.

The village is quieter; his sub-conscious is less bothered by my presence. The clouds have resettled somewhat.

One wrong word and I lose him, I think.

Look at the house you built, how does that make you feel?

I see the faintest smile touch his lips, "I like it."

You built it by yourself, alone, and it stands strong, I cannot lift it, I explain.

"But you still broke into it, you still looked at everything."

Do you really think I found everything by myself?

He pauses, "What do you mean?"

Think about it… Who filled the house? You did. Who hid all the secrets away? You did. But here's the key part… who knew where you placed everything? I stayed outside the whole time.

There could only have been one person in the house the whole time whilst I was in there, ready to tear everything apart like she did… like she always does, I say.

"My wife," he realises.

A fork of lightning explodes across the sky, and thunder rattles the ground. I see his wife's hand leave his shoulder, and he turns to face her.

"You've been manipulating me all this time?" he asks.

"I saved your life," she whispers, "You owe me _everything."_

My subject is torn, is body stands between she and I, unknowing which direction to go to.

The clouds are pitch black, the thunder is roaring, but it is still not raining.

"You want to go with him then go!" she screams, "But don't come crawling back to me!"

The scene played out perfectly.

His face contorts into rage, "You left me! You left me because my parents left me and you could no longer stand by me! How could you do that?! And now! Now you have the guts to try to ruin everything again! Well guess what? I can build for myself now!"

He pushes her away, and takes a step towards me, but she is not finished. She runs up and slaps him across the face, the sound echoing like a memory throughout the world, as loud as the thunder roared.

"You owe me everything!" She screams again.

Finally… the storm surges.

The rain pours and the sky lights up in flashes. We are quickly ankle-deep in rainwater; I look around carefully, surveying what's happening. Lightning strikes his house, exploding the roof, setting it alight. He turns at the sound of the destruction.

"She's destroying it!"

She can't… I say, these clouds are your feelings, they shouldn't be destroying anything unless…

It dawns on me, the storm he was holding back wasn't his own feelings, it wasn't his ex-wife's feelings, but his ex-wife's projection.

The storm mutated into a swirling vortex, tearing through the village, ripping apart houses, sucking up projections.

You're letting her destroy everything again? I ask.

"How can I stop her?" he replies.

I think… it would be best to let your mind run its course, and try to not get caught up in the process, I reply.

"When will we wake up?" he asks.

In less than an hour.

We both run to the nearest still standing house.

This village you created, I assume you filled various houses with other memories, without realizing it. They should be able to hide us, I suggest.

"How so?"

We know she'll be looking to find us, and she'll focus on searching for your emotion. We can use your memories to mask it, smother it.

"What happens if she finds us?"

We wake up; your mind becomes a scene of destruction.

"And there's no fixing it?"

Long term yes, but I don't want to get into that. I'm sorry I broke into your house, I say.

"It's ok,"

You know why I did it though, right?

"To expose her for what she really is."

No, to expose what you really thought of her. In here, she's just your very own projection. The woman you loved has become a damaging plague to your mind, seeking to destroy any happiness you hold on to, making you doubt your existence constantly. If I could expose that, then we can work on curing it, I explain.

"She's coming closer," he says, looking out of the window.

Look, if she finds us, there is another way, though more painful, I say.

He pauses, "and what's that."

If you _really_ want to be helped, we will eventually have to face her…

"…And I must destroy her too," he finishes.

If she finds us, your emotions will become twisted with guilt, rage, anger; everything she brings out in you. When you wake up, she will make you hate me, you won't trust me, but you will have two clear paths ahead of you; the door, or the button. This time I won't press it. It'll be up to you. If you press it, we come back here, we face her, and we try to help you. Or you can leave, follow your instincts, and never see me again, I explain.

"You psychologists don't like to make it easy," he jokes.

That's the spirit, I reassure.

We hear a whistling noise, and realize she is coming ever closer. Our shelter will not hold out, and I know we're doomed in this dream. It all rested on the subject now. What she would do to his mind, I didn't even want to know, but it'd be twisted, warped, broken. As the projection of his ex-wife destroys everything we've built, I can only sit and wait patiently to wake up.

Next thing I know the roof is ripped off. I feel myself lifted out by the force of the wind, sucking me into the vortex. My body twists around, flips over, debris is hitting my face, my body, and I am flying through the air. Through the flashing, I see my kick; a large bit of a wall of a house, flying my way, twice as fast as I am moving towards it. The noise is horrific in my ears; I'm going to have one hell of a headache after this.

I brace myself; the wall turns so its short edge is facing me, meaning a greater force of impact. I close my eyes and begin saying the alphabet backwards.

* * *

I wake up with my head pounding. My whole body feels like it's hurting, and I cannot move. Pain is in the mind, I tell myself.

What happened to my subject, I do not know. I look carefully over to see his eyes open, red, wet. Tears stream down his face. He must be battling something inside his mind. The storm must still be raging. He looks at me with all the hate in the world screaming from his wide open eyes. His mouth snarls, but I can do nothing. The paths lay before him… waiting.


	5. Sub-Psychotherapy Part 5

12th October 12:17am

I need him to remember what I'd said. No doubt his ex-wife had tortured his mind, but all it took was one push and I could fix him.

As I lay there and watched his movements, he starts trembling, crying out.

Much to my surprise, his hand lashes from across his body and lands on the button of the PASIV device…

* * *

"She destroyed everything," he says, "Everything I built."

The storm has subsided, the clouds are lighter but still unsettled; she is waiting.

I reply, what do victims of earthquakes and tsunami's do when their homes are destroyed?

He nods his head, "they re-build."

Build again, I say, build better, build stronger.

"She'll just tear it down again," he replies

Will she? I ask.

"I couldn't stop her the first time; I don't have a chance again. I don't want to go through that again," he mutters.

I don't reply; he has already started building. He begins by clearing the land, throwing bricks into piles, collecting wood and glass.

I bought up the victims of earthquakes and tsunamis for a specific reason, I say, because they faced odds they couldn't control.

"Are you saying I can control her?" he asks.

Are you saying you can't?

Twenty minutes later, we have a village. It is laid out differently from the other one, the house designs are mildly different as well; my subject seems to be getting more and more detached from familiarity.

Where is your house? I ask.

He points it out. It too is different. Larger, less traditional based.

Then I have one final challenge for you, I say, and that is to go inside, and build something happy within.

He nods, and walks away.

I take this time to look to the skies again. The rebuild of the village has worsened the storm again, I can hear the thunder, I can see the flashes, and feel the drops. I can only hope this next bit will work.

Don't tell me what you built; I say, instead, I want you to focus on the weather.

He looks up, "she's coming."

The happiness you built inside your house, she will destroy it. Are you going to allow that? I ask.

"I shouldn't, but I know I can't help it," he says.

Then she will control your mind forever.

He looks at me, his eyes shocked, "How can I fight her?! Tell me!"

The same way you've fought everything else so far, I reply.

He's panicking, and she feels it. The rain starts again, the dream starts to crumble.

"No, not again!" he cries, looking around.

This is _your_ dream, I say, not hers.

The vortex falls to the ground, and the first house is ripped to shreds within seconds.

I watch him closely, studying his eyes, his reactions. As each house is torn up, his hopes die, but his resolve strengthens.

In the beginning I was the destroyer, I say, I told you to take down your wooden house, and then I burned your sticks. How did you fight back?  
"I changed to bricks," he muttered.

Yes, and you managed to build a _stronger _structure much faster, why was that?

"Genuine inspiration… my mind created it for me," he replied.

And why did the house build itself?

"Because I wanted it to, I didn't want you to destroy it," he says, and it clicks, "and if I don't want her to destroy my village, then I have to build to stop her!"

Your mind _is _the village; she is just an outsider trying to overrun it, so will you allow that? I ask.

"No!" he looks around desperately, "I need to build a wall!"

No, you don't need to, needing suggests she's already winning, I say.

"I _want _to build a wall," he mutters.

The ground moves, shifts, opens up. From before us, around the house, a huge wall flies into the air.

Think bigger, I say.

"I won't let her destroy this," he replies, "I refuse to let her."

The dream breaks apart, but not in the ordinary way. The ground cracks and I feel us floating into the air. We are stood on a floating village, where walls are being formed all around, blocking out the vortex of his ex-wife. She battles harder, pushing against the walls, breaking through. Wherever there's a crack, the subject reinforced it.

"She can't get to the middle," he says, "or else it's all over."

The happiness is worth fighting for, I say.

He smiles, "Damn right."

He curves the ground around the edges up, offering more protection. The village expands as it does so, I'd rather call it a city. The projections rush to safety all around us. Suddenly I feel us rush into the air as a tall watchtower is built around our feet, and I can now see over the wall that guards the city.

"She's not attacking as strongly!" he notices.

She's already inside, I say, the walls can hold the storm at bay for now, but we must leave here and find her.

He looks at me in disbelief, "Ok, where will she be?"

Oh, I say, I think you already know that.

Within five minutes we burst into the subject's house, and there she is stood waiting for us.

"What are you trying to prove?" she asks, "What can you hope to achieve?"

The subject stands and stares at her, I stand behind him, awaiting the outcome.

"You break into my house, after trying to destroy my city, my _mind_, and you ask me what I hope to achieve?" he spits.

"I broke in and you're mad at me? What about your friend there? Whom you've known only from today," she asks, "Did he not break in too?"

"He had his reasons, but you? You're not even supposed to be here."

"This is our home!" she hissed.

He laughs, I exhale, "No," he whispers, "This is _my_ home. You left _our_ home, you left a long time ago, and you don't deserve to be here."

"So go ahead then," she said, "Kill me."

Don't kill her, I think.

He's struggling, the human mind is a powerful thing, able to endure strong emotions, but I wonder how much more he can take.

"Killing you won't make the pain go away," he finally says, "but knowing you're out there in the real world… as lonely as I am, well… that's a start. I'm not going to welcome you back into my life anymore, and I'm not here to take you out of it completely either."

"So what do you want?" she asks. Already, her projection is thinning.

"…I want you to leave," he says, "I want you to go, stop torturing my mind, because I can protect it from you now, you can't touch me anymore."

She screams and runs at him, going to attack, but he stands strong, and before we know it, she has disappeared before she even reached him.

Outside, sunlight breaks through the cloud, and the sky becomes quiet…

* * *

12th October 12:20am

Why do you think I made you build and destroy so many things? I ask

"You wanted me to build on my own, for my own sake, and of my own ideas," he replies.

Exactly, the action of building got you accustomed to working on your own, and the action of destroying helped you finally not deal completely with loss, but accept it, and be able to work from it. You became a mere shadow of what you used to be when your wife left you, without inspiration to do anything on your own, and without help in the world. These exercises allowed you to see just how capable you are, the city that rests in your sub-conscious was built by you and you alone. It is a stable mind frame you can go to if ever you need to, without any influences from the pain you faced.

"Thank you for your help in there, doctor, I couldn't have done that without you," he replies.

What was that happy thing you built? I ask.

"Should I tell you?" he replies.

Your wife can no longer hurt you, you made sure of that. You could have told me in the dream, I just said not to so as to make it something valuable you felt the need to keep secret.

"It was a picture of my parents; I placed it in the living room of the house,"

How do you feel about them now?

"As long as I can look at that, I'll remember the struggle I went through, and how I came out on top. I couldn't let her destroy that, above all else," he says.

Well, I begin, I think this settles everything.

He looks at me, "But it's only 12:22?"

Yes, but we have a lot of paperwork to sort out.

* * *

12th October 12:35am

I shake hands with my subject and he leaves the office with a fiery look in his eyes. I hope, for his sake, I never see him again…

I haven't yet failed a patient, in fourteen years of work. An achievement? I doubt it. The human mind is a strange place to be in, each one as different as the other. Every patient I see brings a new dimension to my work, whether it's a stormy raging ex-wife, a repetitive nightmare, a mind so stressed gravity flips every five seconds… it's always different. But there is one thing that remains universal to all minds, that with the correct foundations, the correct discipline, it is capable of the most wondrous things. One must merely learn to navigate it.

I pull out my totem and give it a spin; one can never be too sure.

Dr A Calmes

* * *

I hope you enjoyed my first go at Fan Fiction. I only wanted to write a short story kind of thing, and wanted to experiment with this type of writing style (journal/diary entry). Please let me know what I could improve on/what you liked about it!


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